


House of Mirrors

by Elasmosaurus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self destructive Sylvain, Sylvain's BS internal monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elasmosaurus/pseuds/Elasmosaurus
Summary: Sometimes, in the dark of the night after evil found him once again, in the bed that was simultaneously his escape and his prison cell, Sylvain wished he was strong enough to show his raw, bleeding heart to his friends. Instead, he showed them one of many rehearsed smiles, ever the life of the party or whatever social gathering he was expected to carry, and gestured for his friends to go in before him. The ride operative said no more than two to a room, one really for the best effect, and made them stagger their entrances.At least if he was at the back, there was a chance none of them would notice him come apart at the seams from no more than the sight of himself in the mirror.For Annette's birthday, the gang go to a carnival and end up in a House of Mirrors. Sylvain copes badly, but he's not alone.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	House of Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings for references to:  
> Ingrid being bigoted (this one is small) ~~Fire emblem dads are the worst~~  
>  Sylvain's BS internal monologue  
> Suicidal ideation  
> Unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol and women)
> 
> Massive thanks to [Blackberrychai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrychai) for Beta-ing this for me and being responsible for at least 30 of the commas in this fic!
> 
> Basically, I was really sad the other day and decided to turn it into something creative. So I wrote myself some emotional support Hurt / Comfort. When the Sprinto bot gave me the dare "One of your characters goes to a house of mirrors," there was only one person I could write. Sorry Sylvain.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Let's go in the House of Mirrors, they said.

It'll be fun, they said.

Sylvain was sure that for the rest of them, it was.

Mercedes couldn't see the flash of panic in his eyes from her position floating with her head so high up in the clouds. What did carefree Annette know of the demons that lurked in the shadowy edges of the silvery surfaces? Ashe was too lost in making his redheaded girlfriend happy to notice anyone else's distress. Ingrid was still busy trying to pretend she wasn't into Mercedes because her dad was a dick and ingrained his bigotry in her before she could walk. Felix might have noticed. Out of all of them, he was the most likely to see the problem. The most likely to speak out on his behalf, suggest they did something else.

But he didn't, so in they all piled, all except Dedue and Dimitri because _he_ had the strength to have his breakdown publicly where everyone could see and _he_ didn't have the weight of everyone expecting him to be okay and just go along with it on his shoulders.

Sylvain wasn't bitter about it. He knew enough about Dimitri's ghosts to agree he and his boyfriend should stay outside.

Sometimes, in the dark of the night after evil found him once again, in the bed that was simultaneously his escape and his prison cell, Sylvain wished he was strong enough to show his raw, bleeding heart to his friends. Instead, he showed them one of many rehearsed smiles, ever the life of the party or whatever social gathering he was expected to carry, and gestured for his friends to go in before him. The ride operative said no more than two to a room, one really for the best effect, and made them stagger their entrances.

At least if he was at the back, there was a chance none of them would notice him come apart at the seams from no more than the sight of himself in the mirror.

So Sylvain waited, letting Annette and Ashe walk hand in hand into the gaping maw of his doom. Their excited smiles as they were swallowed by the murky depths did nothing to assuage the terror slowly rising in Sylvain’s heart as he dutifully laughed and joked with Ingrid about her favourite horse. Mercedes was next, her light aura allowing her to glide above the darkness. Ingrid followed soon after. She did it so she could watch Mercedes walk away, unaware that her fascination with the sway of the curvaceous woman’s figure as she walked was definitely gay, and definitely okay, despite what her father said. Sylvain waited for Felix to go ahead, but his friend had jogged over to hand something to Dimitri and the ride attendant made Sylvain go in. Something about not holding up the colourful couple waiting behind them. One of the women had bubblegum pink hair in high pigtails that he would have commented on if their whole group were still present. Pink’s entire presence seemed to take up the room they weren’t in, in sharp contrast to the demure figure she pulled tightly against her side, whose pale blue hair he felt sure was an accurate representation of her usual mood.

Sylvain only knew how to do what was required of him, so he took a deep breath and headed into the House of Mirrors with a deeper sense of foreboding than when they’d gone to the live action House of Horrors before halloween. Ashe and Annette had screamed their way through it, but Sylvain knew it was all fake. Nothing there could hurt them.

This house, though. This house was a House of Mirrors, of shiny reflective surfaces that held up the worst aspects of yourself to your own eyes and forced you to confront them. It was a place of nightmares for someone as fake as him, who couldn’t stand the sight of the person who looked back at him in reflective surfaces, or the person he sometimes caught hiding out of the corner of his eye when his thoughts got away from him.

Sylvain was an overthinker, his thoughts got away from him all the time.

As he slipped through the plastic flaps from the safety of the real world into a circle of hell designed specifically for his eternal torture, Sylvain was greeted by his first vision of his worst enemy. He felt the thump of his heart rate increase. This room was just a corridor of normal, wall to ceiling mirrors. No fancy effects, just you alone with a million copies of your reflection as they reflected into each other for eternity between the mirrors on either side. Every little movement rippled through the infinite Sylvains like a mexican wave. Sylvain had lots of practise ignoring people trying to get his attention from the multitude of girls he sought for a brief respite from his brain that didn’t understand what one night meant. They thought they were special, or that they could change him, or that him being too drunk to remember that it was a second night was a sign that one night didn’t mean one night. It always did. He didn’t need anyone else around to see the worst parts of himself and throw them back in his face. He already had himself for that.

Sylvain applied that practise here, not casting a second glance at any of the versions of himself that demanded to be looked at, to be seen, to drag him down with them. Sylvain strode purposefully down the corridor. More plastic flaps hid the next room from view. The anticipation of it sank deep into his gut. Not knowing what came next was the worst. Best to just rip the band aid off. So he took a deep breath and pushed on, further into the belly of the beast.

The next room had one of the fancy distortions you usually saw in these sorts of places. The sort of distortion people paid more than they should to enjoy. Sylvain didn’t see the appeal, but they weren’t at the carnival for him - it was Annette’s birthday - and he wouldn’t be there if he wasn’t playing himself in the role of perpetual flirt, always happy, punch bag bestest friend Sylvain, the glue that held the rest of the group together. If something went bad, they could all just blame it on Sylvain, or he could tell another self deprecating joke about his shitty life that wasn’t actually a joke but they all laughed at because who would joke about something like that if it was actually true? Ever the comedian, the comic relief for the group. The puppy to kick whilst it was down. Sylvain knew his place. He’d play his part, write the script in his own blood so his friends could be okay. As long as someone was.

This room was pointless. The mirrors just made you look taller. Sylvain already had to duck through most doorways to avoid a concussion, except on the days when he didn’t, because that would be the day Sothis heard his prayers and he hit it badly enough to close his eyes and never open them again. Sylvain was never that lucky. Felix would appreciate the room though, finally a chance to feel shoulder to shoulder with the rest of them. The telltale whisper of plastic flaps passing over each other told Sylvain his friend wasn’t far behind, so on he went through the gap in the mirrors.

The next chamber gave him an idea of what it must be like to be Felix. His proportions were all wrong though, the mirror making him squat and fat. It was probably a trick in the shape of the mirror, rather than lighting. Concave or convex or something. Not worth lingering on. Sylvain let his feet keep carrying him forwards, trying to stay present rather than drowning in his thoughts.

Another long corridor, but this one had no flaps at the end, and what looked like a few exits along its length. Ah. A maze, of sorts, to find the real exit from the fake ones. He let out a quiet snort. How his friends got out of here, he didn’t know. They wouldn’t know fake if it laughed in their faces daily. It did.

Sylvain was well versed in fake, in the layers of make up the sort of women he usually slept with used to cover not just their faces but the wounds underneath, in the whispered false affections they shared while he pretended to enjoy them as something other than the quick chance they were to get out of his own head. He knew when any of his friends lied, or weren't quite telling the truth, because he’d become so well versed in reading all the insincerities in his own face when parroting them in the mirror until he nearly believed them himself. Fake it till you make it, right?

Sylvain had been faking it for so long he really should be a millionaire in his own right by now.

Anyway, through the den of false hope. Unlike his friends, who had probably made them, Sylvian noticed the face marks on mirrors left by those who had walked into their own reflections. Not that one, then. A few more steps and he noticed the smudge of a handprint where someone had tried a mirror like a door. Not here either. Third time’s the charm, and the sullen figure thrown back at him laughs darkly at his failure to spot it straight away. Of course it was this one.

Through the gap in the corridor then, take the next step down his very own spiral staircase into the darkest recesses of his hardened heart. He supposed he deserved it, for all his sins. But he didn’t think he deserved  _ this. _ The mirrors in this room distorted his figure in more ways than one. Sylvain was well built. Broad, muscled shoulders. Tall. Bright shock of red hair. Dim lighting dulled the fiery mop to more of a reddish brown. Shadows made his eyebrows jut out more, made his figure stockier. Even a mark left by someone else on the mirror replicated the scar, in exactly the right place over his eye. Just his luck. For a second, Sylvain was the spitting image of his older brother, and he got to experience what it felt like to be Miklan watching the fear flash through his little brother's eyes. Sylvain didn’t find it anywhere near as exhilarating as Miklan had. He resisted the rising urge to smash his fist into the reflection and break the mirror. He didn’t need any more bad luck, or to ruin Annette’s birthday. The second was more important. Just because he didn’t need something, it didn’t stop life throwing it at him, so Sylvain stopped caring about fairness and relying on life to be kind a long time ago.

Sylvain gritted his teeth and blinked back the wetness in the corner of his eyes to follow the next section of normal mirror maze. Having had his brother’s face thrown back at him, he looks haggard in the reflections he sees in front of him. He heard Ingrid call out somewhere ahead of him and immediately hid the bone-weary emotional tiredness behind a dazzling smile. He even caught the glint of it in his eyes. A new addition, he'd worked night and day in front of a mirror to perfect it. Called an acting coach to help. Felix had asked him why he was sad at games night. He’d been treating them all to the traditional Gautier experience, a shell of perfect happiness on front whilst dying slowly on the inside. He had no real reason to be sad, really. He was alive, he never went hungry. He lived in a safe country, in a ballin’ ass mansion (that still somehow didn’t have enough places to hide in growing up), and his parents mostly left him alone these days. They accepted he'd be a fuck up, and he accepted disappointing them. Family relations had greatly improved once they were all on the same page about what a waste of space he was. He couldn’t believe Felix of all people had picked up on it. So he fed his friend some line about some girl breaking his heart, got one back about how he probably broke hers first or how he was disgusting or a slut or a whore or a failure or any of the other words everyone liked to throw at him because they thought they didn’t stick. His eyes, though. They judged him, but not for the normal reasons. He was sure Felix had seen a chip in his cheerful armour. But Felix never pushed the point, never asked again, and Sylvain doubled down on making damn sure no-one would find a weakness in it again.

The smile looked too much like the grimace it really was in the lighting, so Sylvain tried the smirk instead. The one that could normally buy him passage south of the border with whoever he tried it on with. But as his face merged from brilliant smile to sultry smirk, he caught a glimpse of pale, naked pain underneath. He saw his own true face reflected back at himself, chocolate brown eyes hurt and hopeful and pleading to be believed. For others to believe the lies he told. More importantly, for him to believe them himself. He screwed his eyes shut, and tried something else. The wolfish grin, for when he was right or about to wind someone up. That was fine. He could do that one in his sleep. But he couldn’t get the echo of Miklan’s face out of his mind and in the dim lighting his wolfish grin morphed into Miklan’s version of it and he turned into the big, bad wolf. His reaction was visceral. Sylvain retched, a hand flying up to cover his mouth as his stomach roiled. Deep breaths through his nose helped steady himself and he closed his eyes again, desperately trying to recall the blowjob he got from that famous singer. Anything to push Miklan out of his head, the bile back down his throat. He’d done it for bragging rights, but she'd actually been kind of cool. Fantastic mouth in more ways than one. However, she looked far too much like him for Sylvain to be comfortable spending any amount of time with her. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, and Sylvain could smell the stench that clung to her from a mile off. Fools seldom differ, after all. It had felt good to be seen for a bit though. Shit. All he could think of was sickly sweet false words. His stomach fell out from under him. Sylvain braced himself against a mirror and tried to recall a version of himself he was happy with.

The muscles he had now were the product of an exercise routine designed to make sure no one could hurt him like that ever again. The carefully careless hairstyle was a way to convince people that there was nothing beneath the calm front he put on. The charming smiles were a way to protect himself from his own head when he needed to. His cold demeanour after conquests was a way to make sure things weren’t misinterpreted. He shook his head, this was going the wrong way again. Sylvain liked his thighs. One of the few things that weren’t a product of Project Survive, built instead from years indulging in horse riding, the wind through his hair as he engaged in his favourite pastime and discarded any safety equipment because he didn’t care if he lived or died. At least if he came off a horse, people would think it was stupidity rather than deliberate. Ugh, wrong track again.

Sylvain thought really hard about the last time he’d been happy with any part of himself. It was, stupidly enough, after Felix had helped him haul himself out of that fucking well. Both he and Miklan were disappointed he couldn’t have just smashed his head on the masonry on the way down, or landed awkwardly on his neck, or fallen spine first into the debris at the bottom. He’d been eleven, Felix only nine, but his pale face had shone brighter than any other star in the sky, sun included, framed by that inky backdrop of midnight blue hair. Sylvain was already shooting up at that age, gaining height but not muscle, so he was just about able to grasp Felix’s hand and his friend was just about able to help him support his own weight as he clambered out of the pit. Sylvain was wet, shivering to his core, skin wrinkled from the hours sat in inches of dirty water. Felix didn’t mind. He wrapped his arms around Sylvain's torso and gripped him so hard that in that exact moment, he could probably force the broken parts of Sylvain's life back together. Sylvain was surprised by the sudden show of emotion (Felix was starting to bottle more up as he followed the examples of his older brother and friends), and brought his own arms up to sweep Felix into the air and spin him around to try and cut off the sobs. One of the few genuine smiles he could remember lit up his face that day, more blinding than the sun, trying anything to quieten the cries of the tiny, angry figure in front of him. Felix wasn’t fond of heights. He also really, really didn’t like being picked up. But he didn’t punch Sylvain's shoulder for his trespass, just gifted him a tentative, hiccuping laugh as the sobs gave way to the most beautiful sound Sylvain had ever heard: Felix laughing. Sylvain had wiped the tears out of Felix’s eyes and asked him why he was crying.

“I’m not any more, dummy.” Felix had picked up some of the signature Fraldarius sarcasm already, but he wouldn’t truly come into it until his relationship with his family completely fell apart.

“So why were you crying, little wolf?”

“I was scared. Couldn’t find you.” His eyes misted up again, and Sylvain instinctively pulled Felix in against his still shaking chest to try and comfort him. Felix’s own chest heaved with a few more sobs, before the determined anger was back. He pushed balled up fists into Sylvain’s chest to emphasise his points. “Don’t do that again. You’re not allowed. Promise you won’t leave me.”

The only promise he ever intended to keep fell easily from his lips. “I promise, Felix. We’ll stay together until we die together. And I don’t intend to let you die until you’re old and wrinkly like your father.” (Rodrigue had been 50ish at the time, once they were old enough to know better, Sylvain revised the estimate to around 80ish. They had long, rich lives to lead after all).

“Good. I promise too.”

Present day Sylvain had silent tears streaming down his face. The last time he’d been happy with himself was as a gangly preteen who’d do anything to make his friend happy. Shame the context of what ‘anything’ meant had changed over the years.

But. Bitterness aside. Promising Felix he wouldn’t leave him was a large part of why he came to find himself in this cursed place. Sylvain was nothing if not resourceful (and a sex fiend, if asked by his friends). If he’d really set his mind to dying, he would have been successful. Instead he danced with death instead, taking unnecessary risks and leaving it to fate, Sothis, destiny, or whatever to see if he lived or died. The Promise made sure he never tried anything more deliberately final. It wasn’t fair to Felix. Even if he didn’t remember the dumb, throwaway comment he made as a nine year old, Sylvain did, and it was sometimes the flicker of hope he needed to make it throught the worst days.

Recharged, Sylvain pushed through the maze. Every disappointing version of himself he shoved in a closet in the back of his mind, thinking instead of nine year old Felix laughing. He successfully made it into the next room. This one was somewhat disorientating, mirrors angled to make it look like you were on the ceiling. Sylvain spent too much time nursing bottles for this torture chamber to have the desired effect and he pushed on, emboldened.

Oh, how the mighty fall. That much sweeter for soaring so high beforehand.

He could once again hear the chatter of people at the fairground. Ingrid’s voice, but further away now. A myriad of smells - buttery popcorn, fresh cooked chips, the grease from cooking burgers - tried to assault his senses. But the only sense he could focus on, no matter how much he didn’t want to, was his sight.

No divide once again between the ceiling room and the next one. It added to the disorientating sensation and to the realism of the effect. When Sylvain stepped from the previous room into this one, he could feel himself falling down. The mirrors were designed to make your average thrillseeker believe they fell between the rooms and were now below it. A slanted floor causing the patron to stagger forwards completed the immersive experience. Sylvain’s stomach lurched out from under him and suddenly he was back in that goddess damned well, left to die, where no-one would find him.

Sylvain’s knees gave out beneath him. All he could feel was the coldness that chilled to his very core. All he could hear was the slow trickle of water through the slimy stone walling, covered in slippery green algae. All he could smell was the musky dampness tinged with the metallic scent of his own blood.

Sylvain fell, and he kept falling, until he was curled up against one of the walls of the place he thought would hold his bones for eternity, forgotten by the world.

He hadn’t heard the footsteps of Felix approaching the well when they were young. Felix had always been light on his feet. Their mothers often commented on how he’d make a fantastic dancer. Sylvain was too absorbed in reliving his own personal hell to hear footsteps now.

“Hey.”

A called out greeting penetrated the stone walls keeping him captive. Sylvain sniffed, but said nothing. He noticed a presence by his side now, the heat dragging him further from the place that he still woke up screaming about to this day.

“Last time I pulled you up from somewhere like this, you weighed a lot less. Not sure I can get you to your feet by myself. You need to help, okay?”

Sylvain swallowed, and nodded. Uncurled his arms from around his ankles. Unburied his face from its grave between his knees. Wiped his eyes quickly with his sleeves. No need to hide it from Felix if he’d already seen it. He felt relieved, in a way. Lighter. Free of the burden of being okay.

The warmth by his side left. Sylvain shivered against the loss until an offered hand swam into blurry view. He gripped at the forearm and used his other hand to push himself up off the floor and onto unsteady feet. Felix was underneath him, placing the arm he used to pull Sylvain up with around his shoulder to support him.

“Whoa there. Go slow.”

Sylvain nodded, his head swimming. Felix’s warmth seeped into his side again, helping to dispel the lingering remnants of disquiet that clung to Sylvain’s ankles, dragging behind him desperate to claw him back as they walked with purpose away from the room, and away from Miklan’s terrible influence over them both.

Out of the well chamber, the mirrors seemed tame. These ones distorted their figures into wavy patterns. Sylvain could support himself now without the crushing oppressive weight of his big brother looming over him. He removed his arm from Felix’s shoulder and looked Mirror Sylvain in the eyes. The top half of his face was skewed to the right. The bottom, to the left. The grotesque picture it painted could be inspired by Picasso or Dali. Sylvain stared into the ugliness he saw and accepted it. He was all the names he was called, and more. He was a broken, beastly thing. The only things separating his fate from his brother’s was circumstance.

At least he understood that now. The House of Mirrors had been good for something.

Unlike him. He was good for nothing.

Sylvain flinched at the unexpected touch of Felix’s fingers lacing through his own. He tried to pull away, get as far away from the good man by his side that he’d drag into the depths of depravity just by proximity unless he created that distance but Felix gripped his hand more tightly when he did.

Sylvain took a second, and accepted it. If Felix chose to cast his lot with such broken goods for now, that was his prerogative. He could have tonight, whilst Sylvain was still weak from the past. Tomorrow, in the morning, he could be strong and push Felix away. For now, he let his guardian angel drag him through the last of the maze, watching Felix guide him closer to safety and letting the feeling of a calloused hand in his own ground him.

Green plastic flaps, less translucent due to their colour, signalled the exit from this purgatory on earth. Felix pulled them to a stop. Sylvain didn’t understand. He wanted to get out - from this fairground ride, from his head, from his skin. He started towards the exit again, but Felix tugged him back.

Sylvain stopped and turned to his friend, who was already on tiptoes. Felix slowly extended his long, slender neck to press a deliberate peck on Sylvain’s cheek.

Sylvain’s heart bled. He didn’t deserve the pure adoration in Felix’s eyes. He couldn’t allow himself to believe it. He was setting himself up to fall again and it was better if Felix wasn’t with him because he’d ruin it and - 

The next chaste peck placed Felix’s hard, chapped lips against his own.

“Stop thinking. Let  **me** decide if this is a mistake.”

Sylvain took a shuddering breath, avoiding Felix’s eyes, and nodded.

“Good. After you.” Felix gestured to the exit, mimicking Sylvain when they’d entered.

Once outside, his friends did comment on how he’d taken a little longer but if anyone noticed how shaken Sylvain was they didn’t comment. Maybe he should think about taking up acting. It seemed like Sylvain was born to do it. He started to close the distance towards where their friends were waiting.

Appearing from the exit, the pink haired girl who had been behind them introduced herself as Hilda to Felix, out of earshot of their main group. Sylvain could still hear them, just about. He hesitated.

“Is your friend okay? He didn’t look so hot in that last room.”

“No. But he admitted it, so he will be.”

“Hm,” Hilda replied, giving a pointed look to her blue haired girlfriend, who stared at the floor to avoid Hilda’s eyes.

Hilda and Felix shared a knowing smile, and then he jogged over to the group as they discussed what was next. Ferris wheel. Great, that would give Sylvain a chance to collect himself properly and revive the brilliant smile that always lay a millimeter beneath his skin like a mask, ready to be summoned whenever it was needed.

Felix reached his left hand out to Sylvain, who awkwardly shook it with his own. It was considered rude to shake with left hands rather than right, but whatever. Felix could be unconventional at times.

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered as he grabbed Sylvain’s left hand with his own.

Sylvain looked between the point where their hands were entwined and Felix’s face, shocked. Felix gave him a small smile and an encouraging nod, before falling back into his usual resting bitch face.

Felix was holding his hand.

In front of their friends.

Tomorrow, he wasn’t going to push Felix away. He was going to let Felix pry open the chink he’d found in Sylvain’s armour and offer him all of his heart to do with as he wished. Felix had earned it.

Sylvain was tired of hiding it away.

And if he could trust anyone with it, it would be the one person he’d already promised a lifetime to.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout again to berry for all your help with this, and to Ren, Vi and Sayl for your continued support. Y'all are amazing.
> 
> I thrive off all feedback (including constructive!) and would love it if you left kudos or a comment <3


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